


On the edge on the pond

by SrebrnaFH



Series: Srebrna's Sherlock AUs [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Animagus, M/M, Potterlock, Quidditch Star John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 16:08:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15777498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SrebrnaFH/pseuds/SrebrnaFH
Summary: John is worried about his... whatever they are.And there is an otter watching him.





	On the edge on the pond

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this video](http://m--ood.tumblr.com/post/177183220539/otter-teaches-human-how-to-pet-him).

John blinked.

There was an otter sitting on the edge of the pond, looking at the students flitting around, their classes finished. The animal was not behaving in a normal way, most definitely. He had done several years of Muggle primary school before being invited to Hogwart and, among other pieces of knowledge he retained, there was something about wild animals being unafraid of humans and why that was a bad thing.

He screwed his eyes shut, trying to dig up that simple explanation, something their science teacher told them during a field trip one day…

…his attempt at focus was  _not_  helped by the fact that Sherlock was missing. And apparently nobody cared. He never expected his classmates to be overly invested in the well-being of the inquisitive boy, but damn, they were a bunch of cold-blooded snakes, definitely.

He bit his lip and - yet again - scanned the grounds for the head of black curls. No luck.

If that had been  _last_  year, at least the older Holmes brother would have been available and, as a Head Boy, he would have probably already whipped the Slytherins into a reasonable searching party. With Mycroft gone, there was nothing that would make people take interest in Sherlock’s absence.

‘He’s probably sulking somewhere.’

‘He’s blown himself up finally, good riddance.’

‘I hope the basilisk got him.’

‘Fuck off, mudblood.’

Yeah. That was the short list of answers that a Muggle-born Hufflepuff could receive from pureblood Slytherins, even when he expressed worry about one of their own.

There was always the option of turning to Professor Snape for help - the man  _had_  to have some kind of interest in getting his star pupil back, didn’t he? But why would John Watson, quidditch star in the making and the favourite of Professor Sprout be approaching the Head of Slytherin House regarding one of the dungeon dwellers? How could he explain his interest in the boy whose relationships with other students could only be described as “strained” and that if one was very, very kind?

Sherlock didn’t play quidditch. Sherlock never went to see the games. Sherlock flew his broom with an easy elegance of a cat but would never be seen even in the general vicinity of the quidditch field - players’ coarseness and brutality of the sport would have affected his delicate, refined sensibilities of a scientist.

Sherlock played the violin -  _and_  the fiddle - both Muggle compositions and magical ones, including rare magical folk tunes (ones that made fairies dance until they dropped, some that could put people to sleep and at least one that apparently made the audience hallucinate big spiders). Sherlock read everything about both Muggle and magical hard science - physics, chemistry, alchemy, potions, transfiguration and numerology. Sherlock…

…had disappeared sometimes between the supper of last evening and the breakfast of that morning and John Watson was very very seriously worried about his - most probably, but they had not defined it so yet - boyfriend.

Something touched his knee and he jerked in surprise.

The otter was sitting there, looking at him solemnly.

Suddenly he remembered.

 _Rabies_.

Rabies made wild animals messed up and less afraid of people. Made forest fauna approach human dwellings and made them twice as dangerous.

He swallowed. Otters were small, cute and cuddly. He really hoped that one was just… whatever it was that otter could be, but that it didn’t have rabies. Thankfully, it was not foaming at the mouth, as all stories said about dogs and foxes and so on. It was just sitting there, watching him.

And then the otter raised its right paw and waved at him. Like offering him a high-five.

John was quite sure he was hallucinating.

The animal looked at him, stretching its neck, and then slowly raised the left paw, slowly and carefully patting itself on the head. The left paw went under it’s chin, stroking the fur there slowly.

Then it looked up. Straight at him. Beady eyes watching him, round ears up.

He slowly extended his right hand (if it bit him, at least it wouldn’t be his dominant hand…) and cupped the animal’s head cautiously. The otter leaned into the caress, butting his palm with its nose and burrowing into the touch. Then it sighed.  _Sighed_. Like a human being. Exactly like…

John blinked again.

“Oh, you stupid git” he said fondly. “You idiot genius. You…”

The otter snorted with derision.

“Come on, I’m taking you to the hospital wing. And this time you will stay there as long as Madame Pomfrey says and not a  _second_  less. Remember, if you try to sneak out, I  _will_  find a way to contact your brother. He will be very unhappy if he has to take time of from his very important internship at the Ministry, won’t he?”

The otter sneezed and curled up in his arms, putting its paws over its ears.

“Fine, fine. I’m not talking anymore. But you are an idiot, Sherlock.”


End file.
